Shattered Glass
by FireNymph9
Summary: Three years ago, Roy Harper left his mentor to become his own man. However, at the age of 21, has that really all changed? Contains BL, drugs and alcohol. Read at your own caution. Characters belong to DC.


**Shattered Glass**

**Pt. 1: The Confrontation**

**Featuring Roy Harper and Oliver Queen**

**Content Warnings: Drug usage, mild violence, alcohol.**

**Rating: Teen**

**(Please do not copy or claim as your own. I do not own any of the DC Universe Characters, however I do not appreciate plagiarizing. This is also posted at: .com/post/21104884714/shattered-glass )  
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It was a simple day just like any other; the school day had come and gone and the students involved with clubs had finally started on their trek home. For Oliver Queen however, this was not a normal day. With teenagers plotting to run rampant on the quickly approaching weekend, Oliver had his work cut out for him when it came to breaking up the druggies and gangs. It wasn't the most glamorous of work, but Oliver knew that anyone enforcing the smaller rules was as important as those enforcing the more prominent ones. Donning his quiver and bow, Queen prepared himself to face the night air with a sternness unbefitting the happy character.

As the evening descended into night and the bustling of Star City had now dulled, the archer found himself prowling the same alley ways over and over again. Since he'd started the night shift, the numbers of outsiders had begun to dwindle. Although Green Arrow was a benefit to the city for the good he'd done, the fights that ensued were nothing but problematic. So, to stay out of the way when the heroes came out was more of a necessity than a question. Although he'd broken up many gangs that night, Oliver guessed it was going to be, once again, one of those sleepless nights. He'd practically become nocturnal; his wake up call was the sound of fire alarms and gunshots. He felt more like the infamous Batman who'd donning a green suit for a change. The night would go on though.

Like many times before, Green Arrow walked past a sect of teenagers in the alley way. Discarded needles and shattered glass lay in a muddy pool of water, cast aside in panic as the hero was seen walking close by. After only a minute or so of pursuit, he'd caught one of the miscreants, a tall red head, his hair cropped close to his lightly tanned skin. The man's steely blue eyes, Oliver Queen surmised, were once filled with light but now exuded a vacancy where thoughts had been battered out through those broken lips. Of course, the teenager struggled but it was to no avail, Queen held him fast. There was no escape.

"...Roy?" the name tumbled off the tongue, as more of an after thought if anything. There was no denying that the two looked extremely similar, down to the last scar on his shoulder. The teenager seemed to flinch beneath the man's grasp, pausing and then trying to pull away more quickly at being found out.

Beneath the domino mask, Queen's eyes widened and he held his arm around Roy's midsection, the other one squeezing his arm. From the instant he'd gripped the younger man's body, he noticed a gauntness had enveloped his features. His once plucky and enthusiastic sidekick had evolved into something more sickly and thin over the accumulating years. "Roy!" he said louder now, the boy's name echoing down the empty alleyway. "Roy, I've been looking for y-"

"Leave me alone, Ollie," Roy cut him short as he hissed, seething with contempt and wrestled away. The instant he felt Queen's grip loosen, Roy bolted, not sparing him another moment lest he be caught again.

Oliver, at the sight of his former ward abandoning him yet again, ran after him but found that his shock had taken too long to recover from.

Roy Harper was always good at two things: precision and escape.

Just like three years ago, Oliver had lost his ward yet again to the cruel world of drugs and alcohol. However, as much as it hurt the man to see the empty alleyway, it felt like this was how things were supposed to be according to some twisted design. Oliver would forever chase after the ghost of the admirable boy he'd once known and loved.

Hours later, Roy found himself in the solitude of his studio apartment making a racket as he scoured his fridge. The redhead had forgotten where he'd shoved his shoes off earlier, so instead of going out for a worthwhile drink, Roy stayed in for the night. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for and scowled as he pulled out a name-brand beer. His lack of a financial situation always filled him with regret. Annoyed and wishing to not dwell on the idea of money, Roy flicked the cap off of the bottle and watched as it rolled along the accumulated trash until it clinked with a crushed beer can and fell to rest on the floor. He watched with liquid green eyes, the fleeting moment of a beer cap taking flight being enough to distract him. It was only for what seemed an eternity as he stood there in the dim light, taking swallow after swallow of the bitterly nauseating drink. Losing himself in the alcohol seemed to be the only way to relieve his mind in times like these.

It had been 3 years since Roy left Oliver to be on his own, and now at the age of 21, he still had no reason to be associated with the Young Justice group.

So if he wanted to shoot up, or if he wanted to drink, it was his own damn business. Sure, Green Lantern had been supportive of him and had tried to stop his addiction was too strong (though Roy would never admit it, nor did he want to stop). Regardless though, the Lantern continued to check up on him and acted more like a father than Oliver did when he found out about the heroine.

"Oliver..." the word stagnated in the air and gained weight as it thrust itself onto the redhead's shoulders.

Roy grimaced then walked over to his bed, laying down. As he took another swallow, the image of the blonde haired muscled man burned fresh into his mind.

What the hell did he want? For three years, they hadn't talked, so why the sudden interest? He rested his hand against his temple, sighing heavily as he felt hot tears come to his eyes.

"Why now?" Roy murmured, shutting his eyes before the emptiness could see any weakness. He clenched the bottle in his other hand, having already downed it all. The needle marks in his arm were healing up from the earlier interrupted session, but it didn't stop his emotions from crashing. Roy sat up in his bed quickly, jostling the sheets as he did so and, with a vehement glare, threw the empty bottle until it shattered violently against the wall, breaking and falling amidst the other shards of broken glass. Though his teeth were grit in anger, there was still an almost vacant look in his eyes. He needed something. Anything to help him feel like he was alive: like he could feel happy, if he even deserved that feeling anymore. No matter what the red head tried to do, even if he was on that wave of ecstasy or happy numbness, it wouldn't be long before the emotions were snatched away like the driftwood raked in by a roaring sea. Everyone, every person besides him, had the right to be happy or so it seemed. In times like this, he wished he'd thrown himself into that sea three years ago, along with those gleaming fragments of stone. With an exasperated sigh, he laid down and rolled over in his bed, laughing bitterly at the his shame then cut himself off in his contemplation. Had he really done that much? Was there anything really that separated himself from the masses? One thought prominently fronted itself over the others: Would anyone miss him after he was gone? He thought back to the few teenagers and adults he had come to know, then grimaced, remembering how each time they'd keep those secrets from him. Could he really change after those years? It seemed better to be asking his own friends that question instead. He'd tried to be open, to a point of course. Maybe it was fitting. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the bottles that littered the place. It seemed he had a better question: did he really want to change after all?

That night though, even after three more beers, all that changed was the overbearing emotion of guilt and confusion as he finally passed out from exhaustion, the fourth bottle only a finger tip away.


End file.
